The smell of magnolias, sound of turning books pages, and warmth of creamy coffee…

Month: November 2015

It wasn’t always this way. There wasn’t always such a struggle… a continuous fight. It was her choice to be here in the first place. Her choice; her fault. She sighs, willing her muscles to relax. The battled against the wind exhausts her. Over exertion has caused a slight delirium, and she allows herself to break The Rule. Never think of the past. But in her tired state, she can hardly stop it from creeping in through the barriers around her mind.

Her thoughts drift to the warmer regions of her history, when life was so much simpler. Life was so much kinder. The warmth kept her safe from the dark howling winds that now taunt her with their every move. As her memories flood through her, her body shudders at their invasiveness. Her eyes sink deeper, closing out the menace beyond her door. Resting her head upon her arms, she allows herself to remember…

The smell of orange and clove wafts through the air. The record player hums a melody; a chirpy, upbeat tune that lifts the soul. Sunlight flutters in her vision encasing the faces of those around her. Their laughter bursts out in intervals interupting the music’s revolution about the room. Her face cracks into a grin and love bursts through her heart. These people. This place. It is almost too much goodness to stand. A familiar set of arms encircle her shoulders, and she leans into their solidness. Closing her eyes, she burns this moment into her memory. Burns it there to ensure it won’t be replaced. In this moment, she feels joy. She feels content.

Invading the stillness of the moment, a tear trickles its way down her cheek. Shaking her head from the vision, she wipes violently away at it, taking out her frustration at having broken The Rule. Snarling at herself, she tosses her head back against the door. The pain shakes loose any remnant of the memory grappling for a hold on her mind. The Rule is reinstated.

The baying of the wind coerces her to stand. She must press forward, must continue fighting it. To give into its taunts is to give up. She mustn’t give up. To give in is to admit that her choice was wrong. She mustn’t give in. Still leaning her weight upon the door, she closes her eyes once more, blinking away the moisture that threatens behind her lids. Here I go, she thinks to herself. Lifting herself, she draws up to her full height, sets her chin and walks on.

The shadows of Hurt are the darkest of places. In them lurk revenge, anger, sadness, despair, torment, and hostility. The shadows creep around the darkness pulling at individuals, taunting them to stay within their shady cover. Hurt beckons them to stay within its confines, to nuzzle themselves to its bossom and seek nourishment from self-pity and regret. Hurt tempts them to seek solace in revenge and evil whispers. Hurt relishes and thrives in the unforgiveness of one individual. Hurt smiles at that person’s inability to overcome it and lures him to stay within its pitiless embrace.

Too often, I have watched as Hurt destroys relationships. Its shadows cast themselves deep and wide over the relationship rendering any hope of forgiveness or reparation. Recently, I had a friend tell me “I am not one to forgive and forget what people have done to me”. It struck me as one of the most desolate things I could have ever heard. How tragic. How indefinitely sad. To lack the ability to offer forgiveness reeks of an utter absence of compassion…. and incomprehensible selfishness. It created in me a sadness deeper than words can express.

Perhaps the ability to forgive comes with maturity… when enough time and life passes that a person realizes his own faults. That he realizes all of the wrongs he has bestowed upon others are just as great (if not greater) than those under which he has suffered. Perhaps it is when he compares his wrongs with the sufferings he has caused others, and comes to realize that he is just as imperfect as they. Perhaps it is when he desires forgiveness from them, but cannot receive it because he knows not how. Because his inability to forgive has become so strong that he has lost the ability to receive forgiveness. The inability to receive it produced from an inability to give it.

And in that place, Hurt has won. Because in that place, not even the grace which was suffered for so greatly by Jesus Christ is fathomable to that person. And if it is by that grace by which Man is saved, then he is no longer able to redeem himself to those sins because he has lost his sense of what Grace truly is. How tragically sad. To have purposefully removed oneself from the fulfillment of God’s grace by the decision to withhold forgiveness… my heart could break from it.

So to not forgive, ultimately, is to deny the grace and forgiveness of God the Father, to reject His sacrifice, to reject him entirely. Jesus himself said, “If you do not forgive others, your Heavenly Father will not forgive your sins.” (Matthew 6:14)

The shadows of Hurt are the darkest of places… and they reek of sulphur, resound with bitter laughter. They beckon each of us. The desire to stay is strong… but the necessity to leave is undeniable.

Straining against the beckoning wind, she pulls on the door latch, willing it to stay within her grasp. The wind howls, snarls at her, taunting her weakness and her inability to overcome it. Furiously, she yanks again at the door, this time curling her fingers around its edge. Her hair flies around her face, whipping her, punishing her for the wrong choices she’s made- the choice to be here in the first place. With equal vehemence, the wind sucks at the air from within, persuading it to work against her too. Her knuckles bleed, letting out with it some of the agony within. It’s an impasse. The wind is too strong to let up; she is too stubborn to let go. For a moment, time ceases to move.

Gritting her teeth, she growls in fury, slamming the door, slamming out the wind that would have taken her. Slamming it against the threat of oblivion. Finally.

Turning, she leans her back upon the door. That door, which just a second ago was her greatest obstacle, is now her greatest support, her only protection. She slides against it into a sitting position. Drawing her knees up, she wipes at the tangles surrounding her face. Why is it happening again? Folding her arms atop her knees, she rests her head against them a moment. Her eyelids close.

Blocking out the angry cries of the wind outside, she focuses on her breath. In 1,2,3. Out 1,2,3. In 1,2,3. Out 1,2,3. The steady rhythm slowly creates a grounding for her. Her mind comes into focus.

How had she come to be in such a place? A place that once seemed so charming and full of opportunity is now a constant battleground. The wind, a constant force, threatens her every move. Its invisibility leaves her unaware. Its force leaves her dumbstruck. Its mercilessness leaves her drained. Each day is a battle against it.